


Sink or Swim

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Percy Weasley, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Getting Together, M/M, Percy Weasley-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29153778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Percy has always felt he was struggling to keep his head above water.(Or: the story of Percy Weasley, from his youth, through to his estrangement with his family, to the end of the war.)
Relationships: Background Penelope Clearwater/Percy Weasley, Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12
Collections: Five Figure Fanwork Exchange 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FeatheryMinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeatheryMinx/gifts).



Percy's earliest memory takes place at the height of summer, a sweltering August day. After their morning lessons, Percy, the twins, and Ron are permitted to play outside in the shade wearing little more than their underwear. Charlie and Bill and Ginny are all inside still. Ginny because she’s just a _baby,_ brought home from St. Mungo’s mere days ago, and the older boys because Mummy’s worried they’re going to be behind once they get to Hogwarts (Bill is going _next year_!), so they have extra lessons in the afternoon. Not that Mummy’s overseeing them all like she ordinarily does. With Ginny being so new to the world, Daddy’s still home from work for the time being, helping around the house as much as he can.

And when Daddy can’t be somewhere, that’s when he de-le-gates. It’s a big word but Percy’s just learnt to say it without stumbling over the sounds. But what it means, basically, is that sometimes, Daddy doesn’t have the best view of the back garden through the window, so Percy must be an extra pair of eyes and ears for him. The twins and sometimes even Charlie have been fond of calling Percy _four-eyes_ ever since he got his glasses, but he tries not to let their teasing bother him. Four eyes are all the better to watch with, makes him the best suited to his task. And besides, _Daddy_ has glasses, too. It’s something special they have in common, just the two of them.

Anyway. Percy’s under strict instructions to try and keep his younger brothers out of trouble, and get an adult _immediately_ (that is, straight away), if he can’t. He said he would do his best, and he keeps his promises.

Just the other day, George (or was it Fred?) had been bitten by a gnome, after pestering and pestering and pestering the little creature no matter how many times Percy had told him _don’t_. It hadn’t even bled that much, and George had told him not to even bother telling anybody, but Percy’s instructions had been clear, and he’d told Mummy straight away.

When she’d come marching out of the bedroom with hands on hips, both twins were crying big fat tears. They’d been attacked by a whole army of gnomes to hear the tale of it, and no matter how much Percy tried to explain that it was only a little nibble, that he’d told the twins to stay away, Mummy had yelled at them all anyway, in a way which had made his neck and face feel like they were burning, and then one of the gnomes had caught _fire_ and Ginny had started crying, too.

Later that night, after Daddy had settled him into bed, Mummy had come into the room he shared with Bill and Charlie and crushed him to her chest in a massive bear hug that drowned out all his other senses. “I’m sorry,” she’d gasped, almost on the verge of tears herself. “Didn’t mean to snap. You’re such a well-behaved boy. So responsible.” Percy’s chest had puffed with the praise, and all he had known in that moment was that he wanted to feel this way again and again and again.

Today is even warmer than the days that had preceded it, and Percy is happy to see that the twins _are_ capable of learning, for they’re giving the gnomes a wide berth, opting instead to make pies in the mud that had formed from last night’s rainfall. They’ll get filthy, but that’s fine. None of them will get yelled at for that, they’ll just have to be cleaned up before they’re let back upstairs. Ron’s sitting near them, and Percy is doubly glad to see that the twins are letting him play, too.

Percy, of course, is far too dignified to play in the mud himself, instead flicking through the pages of the hand-me-down book he’d brought with him: _Quidditch Through the Ages_. A present from Charlie.

It’s surprisingly pleasant, all things considered. Percy looks up whenever he hears a noise that might be a cry or a yell, but it’s just the twins and Ron getting very excited about their make-believe pie shop.

“Oi! Look at that!” Fred cries out, and Percy glances from his book with disinterest, expecting to see a giant pile of mud shaped to look like dung or something, but the shape shimmering into the view on the horizon is anything but.

Percy jumps to his feet, book snapping shut as he does so. His first instinct is to run inside and get an adult, but it doesn’t _seem_ like a threat in the usual vein of items and beings that can hurt them around the house. In fact, he thinks he’s seen something like this before: once or twice, late at night, when he should have been asleep, but couldn’t. The silvery creatures would sneak into the window of Mummy and Daddy’s bedroom and … do what, exactly, Percy didn’t know.

But it _did_ mean that they were probably expecting this one, too. It advances towards the house at an impressive pace, and as it gets closer, Percy realises that he recognises its shape from his picture books.

A phoenix.

When he makes it back to the house, he hesitates at the doorway, wondering if he should order his brothers inside, away from the shimmering silver phoenix. But it’s not dangerous, is it? Not like so many of the other things he’d been warned about (gnomes, strangers, that strange mark in the sky he’d seen on the front of the _Daily Prophet_ before Daddy had snatched it away), and besides, with the others where they are and entranced by the creature, he’ll be able to see them from the kitchen.

Inhaling deeply, he steps inside. Daddy and Bill and Charlie barely look at him, so entranced they are with the numerals on the blackboard, a levitating piece of chalk completing equations. Mummy is particularly worried about Charlie’s arithmetic: even Percy can do his sums faster than Charlie, and Charlie is _nine_.

Percy takes another breath, gathering all the important he can muster. “Daddy,” he says, “there’s a phoenix outside for you.”

Charlie laughs. “A phoenix?” he says, and Percy immediately resents the way it sounds like his brother doesn’t believe him. “Come off it, Perce.” Despite Charlie’s admonishment, Percy doesn’t miss the way Bill’s eyes narrow in curiosity and he _especially_ notices the way Daddy’s knuckles tighten as he grips the back of a chair.

“Sorry, boys,” Daddy mutters to the older boys before turning his attention to Percy with a nod. “Lead the way.”

They don’t need to go very far to catch up with the phoenix. Fred, George and Ron have it surrounded as it drifts closer and closer to the house. Percy can feel Bill and Charlie’s curious gazes back from the doorway.

There are several long moments where it feels like they’re all just watching each other, but then the phoenix opens its silvery beak and begins to speak in a voice deep and kind. “I have news for Molly, I’m afraid.” 

Daddy inhales sharply, looking even paler than before. “I’ll go get her,” he says, talking to the phoenix like it’s a person. As he heads back into the house, he turns to look back over his shoulder and motions for the creature to follow. Percy goes to accompany them, but Daddy raises a hand. “Stay in the yard with your brothers,” he says, and as he catches Bill and Charlie eavesdropping, he instructs them to get some sunshine outside, too.

With his older brothers at his back, Percy’s no longer in charge. It doesn’t bother him as much as it would otherwise, because that means _Bill’s_ the one looking after them, and Bill’s always been very responsible. A role model, Mummy says.

Percy goes back to reading his book, but it’s hard to focus, the words swimming on the page in front of his eyes much like they had before he’d got his glasses. He can hear Bill and Charlie talking in low, hushed voices, like they don’t want them to hear, and with a pang of guilt, Percy tries his best to listen.

“Wonder what all that’s about,” says Charlie, brow furrowed in confusion. “Can’t say I’m complaining, though. I was going to go mental if I had to look at another fraction.” He laughs, but quickly sobers at the serious expression on Bill’s face.

Bill’s thinking hard about whether he should say anything, Percy can tell. Slowly, Bill starts, considering his words carefully. “I heard Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon—”

Whatever he’s about to say is cut off by an inhuman scream from the second floor of the house. Their parents’ bedroom. It’s the worst sound Percy’s ever heard in his entire life, far worse than the shouts of the gnomes when Daddy and Bill and Charlie throw them from the garden when their number grows too large. It sounds like a response to a pain that he, Percy, can barely begin to imagine.

The six of them all stare at each other for a long, terrified moment, and without even saying anything, they run into the house together, mud the farthest thing from their minds.

*

The rest of the summer passes by without further incident, a series of warm balmy weeks that all blend into one another. Despite the unremarkable nature of the days that follow the phoenix’s arrival, whatever its message for Mummy had been had a marked affect on her. She tried her best to pretend nothing was wrong, but it didn’t escape anyone’s notice that her smile never reached her eyes, and that she was always on the verge of tears, if not succumbing to her tears entirely.

No matter how often they ask, Daddy won’t tell them what’s wrong. “Mummy’s going through a hard time right now,” he says absently, before always doing his best to change the subject. They’re all going through a hard time right now – there’s a war going on, Bill and Charlie say – and people are fighting and dying for what they believe in, or sometimes even for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or nothing at all. Although none of them know anything for certain, they can’t help but think that maybe that’s what happened.

No-one’s spoken of Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon in _weeks_. They don’t talk about it, but they try and make things as easy for Mummy as possible. Even the twins are remarkably well-behaved, which just goes to show how wrong everything else is.

Mummy’s mood doesn’t improve until the end of October when Harry Potter, a _baby_ who’s even younger than Ron, somehow defeats You-Know-Who, the evil wizard who has been wreaking havoc all across the United Kingdom.

Daddy lets him read the newspaper now. Instead of skulls and snakes floating in the sky, witches and wizards across the country celebrate the end of the war with fireworks and revelry. The wizarding world can rebuild.

The Weasley family can rebuild.

Maybe they’ll never have to hear Mummy make that noise again.

*

Later in the spring, Percy finds a rat half-hidden in the hedges on the outskirts of The Burrow. Or maybe they find each other. Even though it’s missing a toe, likely the result of some scuffle or miraculous escape, it’s a friendly little thing. It makes Percy think it’s lived with people before.

Despite his doubts, Mummy and Daddy let him keep it.

Scabbers is the first thing that feels truly his, just his.


	2. Chapter 2

Percy had been desperate to attend Hogwarts ever since Bill left for his first year, and now, he is finally, _finally_ here. It’s in these hallowed halls where his life will truly begin, where he will be moulded and guided into the wizard he’ll one day be. Albus Dumbledore is one of the greatest wizards – if not _the_ greatest wizard – of the age, and Percy still can’t believe Dumbledore has chosen to remain Headmaster all these years instead of pursuing a career in the Ministry for Magic.

It had started as a passing fancy, but now Percy reckons if he becomes even half the wizard Dumbledore is, that’s where he’d like to end up: the Ministry. Besides, _Dad_ works at the Ministry, and wouldn’t it be great to work with his father one day? Every year when the Ministry holds its Bring Your Children to Work day, Percy is in attendance. Ron and Ginny had only gone once apiece, and the twins had never shown any interest in visiting their father’s office at all.

With a mix of relief and disappointment, Percy quickly learns that no great skill at magic is needed this early in the school year; the Sorting is far simpler than his brothers had made it out to be. The Hat soon declares him a _Gryffindor_ and he can hear Bill and Charlie’s cheers from across the room as he makes his way towards the table.

His heart threatens to burst with pride.

This is where he _belongs_.

*

There are other lessons he learns during his first years at Hogwarts than the ones he’s taught in class. Academically, he continues to be ahead of the curve, just as he had been when his classroom had just been him and his siblings.

It’s in the evenings and the breaks between Potions and Herbology that he slowly comes to notice that there must be something off-putting about him; he’s struggled to make connections ( _friends_ ) like his peers had all seemed to do so easily. He wants to be his own person, but nonetheless he ends up spending most of his time either alone in the library or with his older brothers, when they’re not busy with their own friends, when they have the time.

“I don’t know how to be any different,” he confesses to Bill, Bill who so easily balances the responsibilities of _prefect_ with being well-liked and well, _cool_. Bill, who he admires so ardently. It’s not that he cares for any Charlie any less, but they have always been two very different people. Charlie is a popular Quidditch player, as easy to like as the sport is easy to watch. While Percy loves attending the games, likes feeling the breeze through his hair as he sits in the stands, the rush of his blood as the Seekers pull into a sharp dive in search of the Golden Snitch, he knows he will never have the required skill or dexterity to play Quidditch properly.

But that’s okay. He’s good at other things. School, mostly. Sometimes, though, he wishes he was more well-rounded. _Balanced._

Bill regards him thoughtfully with an expression that might be patronising on anyone else’s face. But on Bill, it’s nothing but genuine: he really is giving the matter serious consideration.

“I think,” he starts slowly, “you don’t have try to be someone you’re not.” Percy feels himself deflate: it’s not the advice he’d wanted to hear. How is he supposed to action that, work upon it, build a better version of himself? Then, however, Bill takes a deep breath, and Percy can tell there’s a _but_ coming, a clarification. He leans in, listening eagerly.

“But if you want to get to know other people better,” Bill continues, “you might have some luck asking them about themselves. Show an interest in their lives.”

 _Show an interest_.

That should be straight forward enough.

*

The first person that Percy practices his newfound strategy on is one of his dormmates, Oliver. Truth be told, he’d not paid the other boy much attention in the beginning, despite their beds being right next to each other’s. Oliver is a middling student who’s _mad_ about Quidditch. Fortunately, he has the skills to justify his obsession.

Truth be told, Oliver reminds Percy a bit of Charlie, if Charlie was a bit more like Percy. As Percy starts knowing his dormmate a bit better, he can’t help but feel that Oliver has had similar problems fitting in at Hogwarts that he himself had. Neither of them are _outcasts_ by any definition of the word, but instead it’s like neither of the have quite found their people.

And while Percy is sure that will change by the time Oliver’s selected for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, in the meantime, Percy learns that Oliver grew up in a magical family much like his own, although one of his grandparents was a Muggle-born. There’s no Muggles in the Weasley family tree (much to Dad’s disappointment). There’s other differences, too. Oliver is an only child, an experience so foreign to Percy that he can scarcely envision it. “What’s it like?” he asks; the question comes so easily, for once. “Not having siblings?”

The corner of Oliver’s lips curve into a curious sort of smile. Wistful. “Lonely,” he surmises.

He feels a pang of sympathy for the other boy, but squashes it down, knowing he’d hate to be pitied if their situations were reversed. “You can always borrow some of mine, if you like,” he says instead. “I’ve got loads.”

Percy will never be a natural joker (not like the twins, never like the twins), but sometimes he _can_ be funny and here’s the proof. He wishes he could bottle the sound up of Oliver’s laughter, unleash it upon the twins the next time they accuse him of not having a sense of humour.

But that would only make them tease him more, he supposes.

He and Oliver may never be the best of friends – and never have the differences between them been more starkly illuminated than when Oliver finally achieves that coveted spot on the Quidditch team – but they get along all right, a friendly ear for one another among all the day-to-day difficulties of boarding school, with Percy helping Oliver with his homework and Oliver scaring off the bullies who might otherwise look at Percy and see him as a target.

*

Before the twins had come to Hogwarts, Percy had found himself missing them. While the feeling tended to fade over the long summers with too many months spent in each other’s company, it always returned by Christmas at the latest.

But now they are _here_ , fellow Gryffindors (oh, how Percy’s heart had swelled), but it is not long before the shine of his younger brothers’ presence wears off. They haven’t changed a bit, for the better and the worse, and they’re always getting into mischief. While Bill and Charlie were hardly sticks-in-the-mud, they’re certainly not inveterate pranksters like the twins. Besides, Bill has left now, gone to Gringotts with top-grade marks in all his subjects – a choice that Percy still doesn’t understand, personally. Charlie has never bothered, nor cared, about keeping his younger siblings in line. He’s preoccupied with two topics, mainly: Quidditch, and _dragons_.

After one too many pointed remarks from various Hogwarts professors about his younger brothers, Percy’s determined to make them behave themselves. But this isn’t like grabbing their arms to stop them from tracking mud into the house. The twins have _changed_ , too. They’re older. Wilier. More strong-willed.

They gang up on him, tease him, _whatever you say, Professor Weasley,_ but they don’t stop misbehaving until Percy threatens to write home to their mother. The threat keeps them at bay, but only briefly. Before too long, they’re putting itching powder in their dormmates bedsheets again, and Percy resolves to let them learn from the consequences of their actions (detentions, mostly – for some reason beyond Percy’s reckoning, people find the twins’ pranks more amusing than cruel), and when Professor McGonagall tells him with a disappointed sigh that Fred and George are in detention _again_ , Percy simply hangs his head and shrugs his shoulders, mutters something like _there must be one in every family_.

It’s not that he’s embarrassed by them. He’s _not_. Okay, maybe he is, a little bit. Here he is at Hogwarts, trying to make something of himself, hold his head up high in a sea of Weasleys, let the criticisms of his family from _some_ sectors of the student population roll off him like water on a duck’s back.

He can’t be blamed for thinking that it might be easier if the twins weren’t here.

Can he?

Not that it matters. The twins are here to stay, and it’s not long before Ron and Ginny will also be at Hogwarts.

He wonders if they’ll be Gryffindors, too.

*

Fred and George can tease him all he wants, but the shining _P_ on the badge pinned lovingly to his chest is testament to his hard work throughout his years at Hogwarts, proof he is heading in the right direction, that he’s being recognised for all his effort and skill.

It’s only natural that he would take pride in his role as a Prefect. It just rankles him sometimes, even though it shouldn’t, when he remembers that the twins had never teased Bill or Charlie like this. Maybe it’s because he’s so much older than them, had left Hogwarts before they had ever stepped foot in the castle.

There are perks and privileges to being prefect that go hand-in-hand with responsibilities: sitting up the front of the Hogwarts Express, receiving their debrief for the school year ahead, the first order of business being maintaining rule and order on the train; being entrusted with guiding the first-years to the common room, and not to mention the _luxuriant_ Prefect baths. Truth be told, this is where Percy spends most of his time in his first year as Prefect, although he always does tries to time his visits for when he thinks the room will be deserted.

It works until it doesn’t, until he passes another prefect in the entryway just before curfew, heading in as he’s heading out. They’ve never talked much in their time together at Hogwarts, but he remembers her name. _Penelope_. “You’re up late,” he tells her, letting the implication of his words go unsaid, and she averts her gaze and blushes.

“I like to be alone,” she answers, and it’s Percy’s turn to feel himself flush. _Implications._ It seems two can play this game. He steps aside, wishes her a pleasant evening, and finds himself quite unable to get the encounter – the pretty Ravenclaw – out of his head. He finds himself looking for her across the crowded Great Hall at breakfast, makes excuses to sit next to her during the one class they share.

She doesn’t seem to mind. Or, well, she doesn’t tell him to shove off, at least.

It is only one day in June, just before exams, when she corners him after class one day under the pretence of asking him a question about their revision. Even Professor Vector shoots them a strange look as she files out of her classroom with after the rest of the students.

They are all alone again, truly alone, and there’s a thick tension in the air between their bodies. Penelope closes the gap by bumping her hip against his with a raucous laugh; surely whatever he’d said can’t have been that funny. She tilts her face up at his and his gaze drops to her lips and his mouth goes dry.

He will never be sure who moved first, only knows they are kissing fiercely, a clash of teeth until they readjust how they’re melded against one another, his hands tugging at her waist to pull her closer.

Too soon, they must surface for air. Penelope pulls away slightly as she smiles shyly at Percy. “I’ve been wanting to do that for ages,” she tells him.

“Me too,” Percy admits, barely able to hear his own voice of the thundering of his heart.

*

Percy resolves not to tell his family about his girlfriend. _His girlfriend._ He knows the twins will be insufferable all summer if they’re armed with this knowledge, and they’re already trying enough at the best of times. It’s why he spends most of the holiday alone in his room – at least he’s his own room now, ever since Charlie had gone off to Romania.

And, well. He’s not _really_ alone, is he?

While she might not be physically by his side, soft and warm and beautiful, Penny fills pages and pages of parchment with lines of her neat handwriting, personality rolling off the letters and into his heart. This is a different way of getting to know someone, and he’s grateful for it, grateful to not have the threat of schoolwork and marks looming over their heads for now, and to not be distracted by her physical presence.

There had been, er, a _lot_ of snogging to relieve post-exam tension towards the end of the school year. Not that he regrets it. Not at all.

Just that this is nice, too.

Too nice to want to share with the world. So, he keeps it (and Hermes) to himself. Just for him.

He’s come a long way from only having Scabbers the rat.

*

After everything that had happened during Percy’s penultimate year at Hogwarts, it is a relief to be on holiday with his family. How long had it been since they had all been in the same place at once? Not since Bill had left for Egypt, he thinks. There had always been someone missing at Christmas or during the summer, but now they are all here again, and Percy wouldn’t trade it for the world, even if he does have to endure the twins' merciless teasing for the crime of being made Head Boy _and_ having a girlfriend.

Penelope had been in the hospital wing for _weeks_ and Ginny… and Ginny…

He tries not to think about the way his stomach had bottomed out when he’d heard she had been taken, the way the room had spun and the bile had risen up the back of his throat. How he remembered his mum making him promise and promise to take care of younger siblings, especially Ginny. Although she never said as much, Ginny was always Mum’s favourite, the only girl.

How could he prevent the people he loved from being hurt again? He is not strong, nor particularly brave. He wonders if he would have become a Gryffindor at all if he’d not already had his heart set on it, the example set by his family.

But he is good at studying, and learning, and applying himself diligently. He wants to be someone, somewhere, that can make a difference.

That’s why he must study hard this year, achieve the NEWTs he needs to acquire a job at the Ministry.

His finger traces the letters of the badge upon his chest. _HB. Head Boy._

The twins might think him conceited, but is it so wrong to want recognition for the responsibility?

*

Hogwarts is supposed to be one of the safest places in Wizarding Britain, if not the world. Percy can’t even remember when he had first heard the claim; it was like he had always known that Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of the age, that it was a truth as obvious and irrefutable as the colour of the sky.

Now, however, after multiple break-ins by a convicted madman on the run, one where his brother had been _threatened_ , uncertainty trickles into the corners of his mind, making him question everything he had once taken for granted.

It was Oliver who’d first planted the seed of doubt, when Percy had been talking about the extra responsibilities he’d been given this year. Not _complaining,_ not exactly. He’s proud to be one of the most trusted students in the school. But this year, being Head Boy is more stressful than usual.

Not only is there the usual issue of students causing mayhem and staying out past curfew to contend with, there is a _murderer_ on the loose _._

“You shouldn’t have to deal with it,” Oliver says quietly, while Percy politely ignores the mud the other boy’s dripping onto the dormitory floor. The Quidditch Cup final will be played soon, and they’re going to _win._ They must.

He’d bet Penelope ten galleons.

“I don’t mind,” Percy answers, with as nonchalant a shrug as he can muster.

The conversation plays on his mind in the months that follow.

Is it that he doesn’t mind, or that he’d never had a choice? Hadn’t everything always been this way?

He’d once overheard Dad say that people grow fast during a war. But Percy wonders it’s not the same after one, as well.


	3. Chapter 3

The end of his seventh year passes in a blur of examinations and job applications. He can only hope he is worthy of a position at the Ministry of Magic, at least, until he receives his letter. The parchment is thick and heavy in his hands. _Real_.

 _Department of International Co-Operation._ It’s as good as any. Better, even. He will have the opportunity to work with wizards all over the world. He is grateful for the opportunity, the chance to make a difference.

Even if he spends the first few months buried in legislations about cauldron-bottom thickness, it is as good a start as any. Not to disparage the importance of proper cauldron regulation, of course.

It is only when his younger siblings are shown off to school that it truly strikes him that he will not be returning to Hogwarts again. Well, not as a student, in any case. Everything has changed now, slanted sideways. He is an adult, a grown wizard, embarking upon a _career_.

After the incident at the Quidditch World Cup, he and Dad had worked so much overtime, and every night, Mum would wait up for them with a hot cup of tea, leftovers for dinner and a reminder of how proud she was of the both of them.

On one hand, Percy doesn’t need accolades for just doing his job, but on the other, it feels nice to have recognition for his hard work. Even if it is just from his mother. Even if his siblings still think he’s taking things too seriously.

Even if his boss can’t remember his _name_. But Percy’s going to change that someday soon, just watch.

*

Every day is busier than the next, but Percy revels in his work at the Ministry. Mum frets about the amount of overtime he’s doing, and it gets to the point where she enlists Dad in her attempts to make sure Percy doesn’t sleep in the office.

He appreciates having a house and a warm meal to return to at the end of the day, he _does_ , it’s just… he can never remember a time when his childhood home had felt so empty. With both Bill and Charlie working abroad, and all his younger siblings at school, the Burrow is strangely quiet, and it’s oddly uncomfortable to have so much of his parents’ attention to himself, despite so many years of craving more of it.

It’s lonely.

Being at the Ministry reminds him of his earliest years at Hogwarts, of not fitting in, of being a round peg being forced through a square-shaped hole. It’s not that his work isn’t impeccable (it _is_ ), it’s just that he’s all-too aware of the stares at his back, the way people’s eyes fade when he enters a room.

Asking people questions about themselves had seemed more natural as a child, but now… now he can’t help but think it makes him sound like a sycophant (although he would never admit as such aloud). Navigating the social structures of the Ministry feels like talking underwater, and he is _drowning_. He doesn’t know what to do, or who to talk to. Dad’s of little help, has never understood Percy’s ambition, his constant desire to make something of himself, to prove… to prove…

Truth be told, Percy’s not entirely sure what he wants to prove any more. Just that there’s an ache below his ribcage that yearns for something he can’t quite identify.

He even asks Penny if she still feels it, the longing to be someone else, somewhere else. To be doing something that _mattered_. They had bonded over their shared experiences, once upon a time.

But Penny… Penny’s _thriving_. She settles into her Healer training with aplomb, and on the scarce occasion they’re able to meet up for a date, her eyes shine when she speaks about her work. This is what she’s always wanted to do, she tells him. Make a difference. Help people.

Like he had, once. Still does, he thinks. Maybe he just must work harder to find his footing, maybe everything will make more sense one day when he’s in a higher position, with more power at his fingertips.

If he can’t change himself to fit this world, maybe he can change it to fit _him_.

Over the months that follow, he feels the envy curl in his gut whenever Penny speaks about her work, and in the end, he’s not sure who even calls it off.

It simply is what it is: a relationship snuffed out by the spectre of their careers.

*

There was a moment when Percy had seen the future he’d planned for himself splinter before his eyes when he’d been brought before the inquiry into his boss’s disappearance-turned-murder. He had worked so hard, kept his head down, done his best to avoid unnecessary questions. He’d seen what could happen to people who challenged the status quo.

And yet there had always been the lingering doubt in the back of his mind, hadn’t there? So why had he avoided it? Because he was afraid. Afraid of what, he wasn’t certain. Afraid of admitting that he was in over his head, perhaps, to needing assistance. He’d never needed _help_ before.

His first monumental muck-up in a domain he had once thought himself infallible. Percy Weasley might not understand many social situations, but he’d never failed a single assignment during his Hogwarts days.

As it turns out, the real world is nothing like school. School, the only thing he had ever excelled at.

And when the outcome of the inquiry is a _promotion_ and not a reprisal, Percy can’t help but feel like he’s being more suffocated than ever.

*

Dad had spoken Percy’s fears aloud, and then they had lost their tempers. It was stupid, Percy conceded, to think his father would have been proud of him, but he had wanted… had wanted…

Had wanted to feel like this was something he had earned, not that he was being used in an elaborate game of Wizard chess. Had wanted to be able to continue lying to himself, that he was successful, that he was happy.

Not that he has any choice in the matter, now. Looking around his tiny empty flat, he knows he has made his choice, and now, he must live with it. All the things people had ever said about him were _true_ , and no matter what, he’d never had any success in hiding his nature.

He’d tipped his hand, thrown his lot in with the Ministry, and now he must see this through to its inevitable conclusion. If he can’t have the love and support of his family, he could, at the very least, be successful in his endeavours.

Percy continues to drown in his work, but this time, he doesn’t try to fight the current.

Instead, he lets it pull him in.

*

He doesn’t quite recall when he starts frequenting the Leaky Cauldron on Thursday evenings. The _Thursday_ part is important. On Fridays, the pub swells with Ministry employees embracing the start of the weekend, which is precisely everything Percy is desperate to avoid. Monday through Wednesday, the clientele feels as though it would not be misplaced at the Hog’s Head in Hogsmeade, not that Percy would know what the inside of that pub looked like.

Well. All right. He had crossed the threshold once. But only because he’d received a tip-off that there were students misbehaving inside.

In any case, Thursday is the perfect day to partake in a drink at the Leaky Cauldron. Crowded enough to make him feel like he’s part of something, but with little risk he might talk to someone he knows.

For weeks and weeks he does this, but it’s a barely a week out from Christmas when he hears a familiar Scottish brogue call out, “Weasley. _Percy_ Weasley?” does he actually make any motion to look up from his drink.

Oliver Wood has filled out since their days at Hogwarts. Of course, his classmate had always been more physically fit than him. _Quidditch Captain_. How long has it been since they last spoke? They’d exchanged a few letters in the summer after they’d finished up at Hogwarts. Oliver had earned a spot in the Puddlemere United reserve team shortly after leaving school, and the letters had spaced themselves out from there.

It must have been _months_ since they’d last corresponded.

Percy surreptitiously swallows a mouthful of Firewhisky to wash down the guilt and does his best to affix an approximation of interest on his face. It comes more easily than it has in the months past. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Christmas shopping,” Oliver answers easily, before sitting down heavily in the seat next to Percy without even asking. “Thinking of getting Mum one of those little potted cactuses that can sense your moods.”

Percy frowns. _Cacti._ “But you failed Herbology.”

Oliver grins. “Yeah, but _she_ didn’t,” he answers before ordering a Firewhisky of his own from the barman. Before Percy can draw up his own defenses, consider the situation carefully, Oliver barrels onward. “So, how have things been with you, anyway? Still with the Ministry?”

He tries not to let the fatigue shine through his eyes when he answers. “Yes,” he says, as primly and properly as he can muster.

“And Penny?”

Percy takes a deep breath. It’s like a vice is crushing his chest. He hadn’t thought about Penny in so long, so why does he feel like this now? “We split up some months ago,” he answers, and this time, he doesn’t even try and disguise his sadness.

Oliver takes a heavy swig of his Firewhisky and claps Percy hard on the back. He’s pushed forward by the momentum, glasses sliding down his nose, threatening to fall entirely.

“Shame,” says Oliver. “Sorry to hear.” After another sip of his drink, he glances thoughtfully at Percy. “Guess it’s not all bad, though. Not everyone marries the person they were with in school. You’re still young and fit, you—”

Percy splutters on his own mouthful of alcohol. He’s sure that his neck and ears have flushed in the way it usually does when he gets embarrassed. Squaring his shoulders, he sits even more primly than he had before. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he protests, half-expecting Oliver to laugh at him, like so many other people do.

But he doesn’t. Never had. Instead, he continues to gaze at him with that same look of serious consideration on his face. “Not trying to be funny,” Oliver says, holding up a hand in resignation. “I mean it.”

Studying Oliver’s face in return, Percy can detect no trace of sarcasm. Just bright-eyed earnestness, so honest it burns. He tears his gaze away, unable to make sense of the ache in his chest, the tremble of his hands. Clearing his throat instead, he simply answers, “Thank you.”

With a smile, Oliver continues. “You know, sometimes I go to the Muggle clubs with the boys. Don’t get too drunk during the season, but it’s a good way to blow off some steam. You should come with us next time.”

Percy had achieved an Outstanding NEWT in Muggle Studies, but Oliver’s suggestion nonetheless throws him for a loop. “Clubs?” he asks, non-plussed. “Like golf?”

Oliver does laugh then, but Percy doesn’t mind it. It’s like when they’d been back at school together, like Oliver’s found amusement in what he’s said, not at his expense. “No, like _nightclubs_.”

“I don’t follow,” Percy admits, self-consciously pushing his spectacles up his nose once more.

Fortunately, Oliver’s more than happy to clarify. He wraps an arm around Percy’s shoulders as he explains, leaning so close their knees touch. Percy’s never been a huge fan of physical contact, outside of his family and ex-girlfriend, but it’s not like he’s ever had much of an opportunity to get close to many other people before.

Percy finds he doesn’t mind it.

“It’s drinking and dancing in the dark,” Oliver says, and before Percy can interrupt and ask why anyone would even do that, he continues, “the music’s so loud you can’t even hear yourself think, let alone speak. Drowns out the senses. Helps you forget everything, even for just a night.” He shrugs again, swallows down another mouthful of his drink. Percy’s gaze follows the graceful bobbing of his Adam’s apple. “People can get _handsy_ , too, if you know what I mean. If you’re into that… I know that you… ” Oliver trails off with a startled sound of strangled surprise, and a moment later, drops his arm from Percy’s shoulder.

He misses the comforting weight immediately, but quickly banishes the thought from his mind. “Yes!” he answers too quickly, too eagerly. “I mean,” he continues, doing his best to regain his composure, drawing himself up anew. “I would like that.”

Anything to be away from people with their judgemental eyes, their preconceptions. Even if it means dancing with Muggles. _Dad would be rapt,_ he thinks, before he _remembers_ , and it feels like his stomach is bottoming out again.

Oliver drains the rest of his drink. Slamming the glass down against the bar top and rubbing his sleeve against his mouth, he says, “Well, I’ll be in touch. Don’t be a stranger, all right?”

“All right,” he answers as Oliver flashes him a smile suffused with the most genuine affection he’s seen in months and takes his leave.


	4. Chapter 4

He doesn’t end up taking Oliver on his offer.

Later on that night they’d met, he’d gone to bed, nursing the only hope he’d felt in months buried deep within his heart like a seed, only to be awoken by the sight of Errol at his window with a message from his mother. His mother, the only member of his family who’d made any attempt to reach out to him ever since he’d left the Burrow.

Ron had never responded to his letter.

He’d only been trying to look out for him.

At first, Percy had considered simply throwing the letter in the fireplace. Merlin knew the letters had come thick and fast when he’d first moved out. Pleading. Gesticulating, almost, as much as it was possible to do through text. Percy had finally managed to halt their flow by telling Mum in no uncertain terms that he would only return home if Dad apologised to him, and seeing as _that_ was never going to happen…

He’d rubbed at his eyes, exhausted, determined to leave the letter for the next morning.

But something – curiosity, perhaps – had stayed his hand, and instead he’d unfurled the parchment and read the message upon it.

And he had read it. Again and again and again, trying to make sense of the ink, which had blurred and shimmered on the page not through any magical design but rather the dampness of his eyes.

 _Your father is in the hospital_.

Any other details had been scarce, but he had known there was more information he hadn’t been told. The lump in his throat had been so hard to swallow around. Was that truly what his family thought of him? That he was a Ministry shill? A _spy_?

He had supposed it was little more than what he deserved.

Oh, how they would laugh if they knew the truth!

In the end, he screws the parchment into a little ball and tosses it into the bin, and when his Mum sends him his Christmas present, he returns it.

This is the way things have to be.

*

He Who Must Not Be Named is back. Percy had seen him with his own two eyes, the briefest of glimpses in the Ministry of Magic itself. The worst part is that the discovery doesn’t surprise him, at least, not in the way it should.

Perhaps he’d always known deep down that his family had the right of it, that Albus Dumbledore was truly the wizard he had always been reputed to be.

But how was he supposed to confront that truth when the Ministry had been so willing to look the other way?

Rocking the boat has only ever caused him pain. He couldn’t risk the only thing that was he still had left.

No, what had surprised him was how much, and had little, had changed in the atmosphere at work. He has a new boss now, but his day-to-day tasks remain the same. There is a storm brewing and he is stuck watching the clouds gather on the horizon. They stand on the precipice of war and there’s a sinking feeling in Percy’s heart that they will not be ready for it once it comes.

Everything is so precarious. He should go home to his family, apologise profusely, before they’re all plunged into chaos.

But he doesn’t even know where to begin, so he puts it off. Besides, he highly doubts any of them will welcome him with open arms, except for Mum.

*

He’s not expecting another owl from Oliver, especially not one which closes with _I’m worried about you, you prat_. He hadn’t thought Oliver would care that he’d stopped responded to his letters, had thought they were simply drift apart like they had in the months after they’d left Hogwarts.

He’s especially not expecting an update on his own family from this peculiar source. Apparently, Oliver had caught up with the twins – the twins, who had left Hogwarts without achieving their NEWTS to become _entrepreneurs_ – and Percy’s sure they had some choice words to describe the situation within the family.

They had never been close, him and the twins, except through the happy accident of being nearest to one another in the birth order. Still, something aches in his chest when he thinks about them.

 _They weren’t very impressed, to put it mildly,_ Oliver had written. _But I thought I’d like to hear your side of it_.

His side of it.

Nobody had ever asked him about it before.

_I’ll be in London next week. Going clubbing to celebrate the end of season. Was thinking we could get dinner beforehand, my treat? You’re more than welcome to join us afterwards, of course._

To his surprise, Percy finds himself responding in the affirmative.

*

How long had it been since he’d attended a purely social engagement? Probably not since of his dates with Penny when they had just left school. He barely even remembers how to _dress_. His clothes are nicer now, much nicer than they had been growing up thanks to his Ministry salary, but he feels naked without his robes to cover them up.

Exposed.

But it’s more or less what he would wear to work, minus the waistcoat and suit jacket, less formal and more suitable for the summer heat.

The restaurant that Oliver’s booked is a Muggle establishment, not too far from the ‘nightclub’ they’ll be attending afterwards. Percy had gotten his money changed on his way, the Muggle notes making his wallet feel much lighter than he’d like. He’d never understand why they preferred to record their currency on _paper_. Or why they insisted on changing it all the time. Dad had never been able to adjust from what he had been taught in school. He strikes that thought from his mind before he can stop to think about it. 

Oliver is outside waiting for him. It’s oddly heartwarming: so often is Percy the one waiting around for other people.

Before Percy can get a word in edgewise, Oliver pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. When he lets go, his eyebrows knit and he says, “Ah, sorry, mate. I forgot—”

Percy interrupts him with a wave of his hand. “It’s quite alright.” It is and it isn’t. He feels… discombobulated. “I suppose you could say I’ve loosened up since school,” he says with a smile, and Oliver smiles in return.

The dinner passes by in a haze of catching up, dancing close to the topic of his family which Percy knows Oliver really wants to talk about, but has apparently decided not to bring up unless he mentions it first. He appreciates being given the space.

His Shepard’s pie and chips are certainly adequate, but they don’t hold a candle to his mother’s cooking, and his chest tightens again.

“So have you decided?” Oliver asks once they’ve finished fighting over the bill. Percy had prevailed in the end with his superior knowledge of Muggle money, even though he hadn’t much occasion to use it before. “Are you coming out tonight?”

He should shake his head, say no. But tomorrow’s not a workday, and it’s _nice_ having a friendly face around, and he’s running out of excuses. Not even the fear of Oliver’s teammates laughing or making fun of him can dissuade. 

“Yes,” he decides.

*

Percy spends twenty minutes in the club before he decides he hates everything about it. Well, _almost_ everything. For the music might be too loud, the lights too bright and fast in the darkness, but Oliver has barely left his side all evening. The warmth of his friend’s hand on the small of his back threatens to burn him even through the layers of clothing, hotter than the alcohol he pours down his throat.

One’s thing for certain: Oliver certainly wasn’t lying when he said it dampened the senses. Eventually, he’s able to block everything out, everything but the two of them, and when Oliver drags him back to the throng of revellers for one last dance, he can feel one of Oliver’s strong thighs slip between his legs, and before he can register what’s happening, their lips meet.

Oliver tastes like … like mahogany and stale beer.

But again, Percy finds that he doesn’t mind it.

*

They’re not seeing each other. But they’re not _not_ seeing each other. They’re simply both… very busy with their careers. Very different people. But whenever Oliver writes to him, Percy finds himself responding immediately, warmth blooming in his stomach.

It’s like in those summers between years at Hogwarts that he’d spent corresponding with Penny. Maybe he’s better at putting his feelings into words. In bits and pieces, Percy tells Oliver all about the estrangement to his family: how he’d always gotten along with his dad best growing up, no matter how his mother had doted on him. How when he was younger, he’d wanted nothing more than to be the next Arthur Weasley. How he’d always thought that his dad deserved more.

How it was easier to blame his father’s idiosyncrasies and personality for his family’s struggles with money, than to acknowledge it as a failure of the society he’d been raised in.

How he’d foolishly thought that if he studied enough, worked enough, succeeded enough, he could change it all.

 _I think_ , Oliver had written in return, _you’ve always taken on more responsibility than you need to. That’s why I enjoy seeing the other side of you_.

He tears off that part of the letter, keeps it in his pocket, remembers that night in the club when he hadn’t thought of anything other than how Oliver had felt by his side.

Maybe once everything has settled down a bit, they can have a real go of making things work.

*

It’s only his desire to not get into a row with his boss that stills Percy’s tongue when Scrimgeour makes his intent to visit the Burrow clear. Percy knows it’s not a personal favour to him. Firstly, his estrangement to the rest of the Weasleys is well-known in the Ministry. His father can barely look at him in the odd moments where their paths cross.

Secondly, Scrimgeour pays no heed to his half-hearted protestations _don’t want to bother them, Minister, not on Christmas_. But Scrimgeour had countered with the fact they already _had_ houseguests and surely they could begrudge them this one, little visit.

Percy’s not an idiot. He knows why Scrimgeour really wants to drop by.

So that’s how he finds himself unwillingly in the presence of almost his entire family for the first time since he’d walked out of home all those years ago, flushed to the tip of his ears when his mother embraces him. As anticipated, none of his siblings are thrilled to see him again.

This is not how he wanted this to happen.

He’d been working on a letter, some way to express his feelings.

He’s not even sure how things escalated, but tempers have always run in the family.

The Minister is kind enough not to mention the mashed parsnip on Percy’s glasses.

And yet through it all, his father _still_ hadn’t been able to look at him. 

*

It is in the New Year that Percy truly starts to get the sense that he is being watched. At first he simply relies on how the hair on the back of his neck prickles whenever he enters a room, but he eventually invests in a Sneakoscope. Before too long he realises taking it to work is a fool’s endeavour: the Ministry is a hotbed of dishonesty, and he is so truly enmeshed in the very heart of it.

His missives to Oliver become shorter by necessity. _I can’t talk about it here_ seems to take up half of his letters, and in turn, it becomes for code _we won’t talk about it at all_ , just like so much else between them.

So perhaps he shouldn’t be too surprised by a frantic knocking at his door late one evening and he opens it to find Oliver, a light dusting of snow in his hair, which just goes to show he must have come from somewhere _else_ : London is just wet and dismal as usual.

“You know, if we can’t talk about things through owl,” Oliver starts as he pushes past Percy and lets himself in, “then we might as well discuss them in person.”

If it had been anybody else who had dared to act in such a way toward Percy, in his own accommodations, he would have slammed the door in their face. Instead, his throat just feels oddly dry as he leads Oliver to the kitchen, wordlessly putting on a spot of tea as he rubs tiredly at his face. “I’m sorry,” he starts, but Oliver interrupts.

“Don’t apologise,” he says sharply. “It’s not your fault that – that people are dying.”

Then why does it feel like it is?

“Your parents are well?” he asks as he steeps their tea. It occurs to him that he barely asks. They spend so much more time talking about Percy’s family instead.

There’s _so many_ of them.

“Well enough,” Oliver says, shaking his head, depositing some of the excess snow onto Percy’s freshly cleaned kitchen floors. “Mum’s worried about Pa, though. You know, if things get worse.”

It’s optimistic of Oliver, Percy things, to say _if_. Things have been getting worse. They continue to get worse.

It is only a matter of time.

“Because he’s a Muggleborn,” he recalls.

“Right,” Oliver says.

“It won’t come to that,” Percy says, a lie for the sake of them both. _Who’s naïve now._ He fidgets as he sets the teacups down in front of them. “I should have been more responsive,” he continues.

Oliver purses his lips and blows at his tea. “When are you going to start to realise that I actually want to spend time with you?” he asks.

Unbidden, Percy remembers the warmth of Oliver’s lips on his. He flushes. “I realise,” he says. “I’m just …”

“Bad at this,” Oliver surmises, and Percy nods. The upside to having known each other for almost half their lives is that he doesn’t have to explain himself to Oliver. “We should set time aside to see each other,” Oliver continues. “I know things will come up. But, I also know how much you love balancing a busy schedule. Twelve OWLs, Perce!”

He feels so warm he might actually explode. He rubs at the back of his neck with one hand. “It’s nothing,” he says.

“I heard a rumour that Hermione Granger had a _time-turner_ and she only managed ten.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Percy snaps, embarrassed by the continual flush of his cheeks. “That would be a serious misuse of Ministry resources.”

Oliver reaches across the table and holds one of Percy’s hands in his own. “Just in case I’m not making myself clear,” he says, “I think you’re magnificent.”  
  
“Thank you,” he answers, although he’s not quite certain how to live up to Oliver’s esteem of him. He takes a breath. “For the record, I think you’re magnificent, too.” He’s both surprised and not to find how much he means it. It’s not that he doesn’t think Oliver is brilliant, but he’s had a lot of time to examine his own feelings, wanting to be sure that the only reason he likes Oliver _isn’t_ that he’s the only person who pays him any attention.

But there’s a lot to like about him besides that: his devotion to his career, managed without tearing apart his family, how he always encourages people to be the best person he thinks they can be.

Oliver Wood, Percy decides, is definitely the type of person he wants in his life.

*

Even with the growing sense that everything is about to go horribly wrong, Percy had never expected Death Eaters to invade Hogwarts. Not while Albus Dumbledore was alive.

But that’s just it, isn’t it? Dumbledore’s not alive anymore, and it feels, very strongly, like the end of an era. Like the last line of defense between He Who Must Not Be Named and the rest of the world has fallen, and they are on their own now.

He hadn’t expected to feel like this, like it was not only Dumbledore who had died, but his entire childhood. Sitting up the front with the other Ministry officials, he has never felt more out of place.

He should be with the other ex-students, gathered in rows to the side of current pupils. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Oliver and is that _Penelope_? She looks just as beautiful as he remembered, but not to mention just as distant and unattainable. He hadn’t expected to see her here, although that is foolish. It’s like every witch and wizard in the United Kingdom is here to pay their respects to a man who had shaped each and every one of their lives.

It’s not that he still has feelings for her. He doesn’t.

It’s just another reminder of how his choices have led him to where he is today, nothing but pretence and pomp.

*

His eldest brother is getting married and his mother sends him an invitation because of course she does. To his credit (or perhaps Oliver’s influence), he doesn’t simply ignore it, and actually RSVPs with his regrets. _Busy with work,_ _I’m afraid_ , he says, an excuse but not a lie. It’s not like Scrimgeour would stop him from attending Bill’s wedding. Honestly, he’d probably try and finagle himself an invitation.

But he works overtime that day anyway. Even the Minister leaves the office before him, and Percy doesn’t know it when he mouths his goodbyes that night, but he will never see Rufus Scrimgeour again.


	5. Chapter 5

The Weasleys are blood-traitors. Everyone knows that. But Percy had never stopped to think about what impression he might have been giving to others when he had distanced himself from his family. He might have tossed his lot in with the Ministry, but this new order, he cannot abide.

Every time he passes the new statue in the Atrium, he feels like he’s going to be violently ill.

It goes against everything he stands for, everything that he’s been taught to believe. He wonders how his father stands it, still coming here day in and day out. He wants nothing more to be able to run towards him and bury his face in his robes like he’s a child and all the world’s problems can be fixed with a cuddle and a kiss on the head and a quickly-placed repair charm on his glasses.

But the world marches onward, and the one question Percy _doesn’t_ ask himself is why his father stays. They might be trapped in different cages, but they are both captives of their choices. It is more dangerous to leave than to stay.

So, they stay.

*

It’s a struggle, finding time to see each other, but Percy and Oliver make do. They’re _wizards_ , after all. Physical distance isn’t the worst factor they’ve had to contend with. Their clubbing days, however, are long past them. Percy can’t remember the last time he’s had a full night off; Thicknesse is working him to the bone, like he’s worried that Percy might defect to his family if he’s given half a moment to breathe. Or, perhaps, hoping.

After all, it’s not like the new Minister of Magic needs a _spy_.

What he does need, however, is a _hostage._

So Percy toes the line, keeps his head down. He’s not going to make things more difficult for his family, he’s _not_. After everything he’s done, this much he can manage at least.

Manage, at least, until a familiar name passes his desk. A haphazardly placed file from Muggle-Born Registration Commission. _Ian Wood. Muggle-born. Hufflepuff._ The attached photo almost makes Percy’s heart stop.

He looks so much like his grandson, especially in the set of the jaw and the warmth of his eyes.

So often, Percy thinks of Oliver as an escape from the war, and everything it brings. But now his worlds are clashing. “You have to get him out,” Percy urges, but it doesn’t feel like enough.

He should have done something sooner.

So when Oliver thanks him for the information and gets ready to leave in order to make use of the information, he asks Percy why he looks so forlorn.

_Because your grandfather is being persecuted due to the circumstances of his birth. Because I can’t do more._

Oliver’s mouth twists slightly before he Disapparates. “Can’t you?” he asks.

Damn Oliver Wood, Percy thinks, and how he makes him feel like anything’s possible. 

*

Being a pure-blood wizard, even from a family with known pro-Muggle wizards, affords Percy a certain amount of privilege. No-one thinks twice about obscuring files from the Muggle-born Registration Commission from his view. It's like the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister _wants_ him to see, twiddling her thumbs, trying to draw him into fully accepting her line of thinking. He doesn’t know what to do about the information at first. Badly wants to pass it onto to someone who might be able to do something about it, but … that would mean speaking to his father, because he doesn’t know who else to trust.

Unless Oliver can help people escape on his broomstick, or something.

But he can’t just go up to Arthur Weasley and _talk_ to him. Even if it weren’t for the distance between them, they are both being scrutinised now more than ever.

It takes him some weeks of deliberation, contemplation and reflection before he's able to come up with a solution. When it comes to him, it's like it's been staring in his face the whole time. It's simple. Deceptively simple. Maybe it'll backfire. But he has to do _something_. And that something could be built upon what he had learnt with his family, back before he had ever even set foot in Hogwarts.

The truth of the matter is that Percy hadn’t always clashed so much with the twins. Oh, they would never be kindred spirits, but there _was_ something they had in common: they’d both loved to accompany Dad when he’d tinker in his shed.

They’d taken somewhat different things way from it of course. The twins had developed a taste for exploration and experimentation, whereas Percy had inherited his father’s appreciation for the ingenuity of Muggles.

It was one summer, when he was nine or ten, that his father had taught him about cyphers. It is as he scribbles his message down on a scrap piece of parchment to drop in his father’s pocket when they next pass each other in the halls that he hopes his father hasn’t forgotten those days, either.

A week later, there’s a scrap piece of parchment in Percy’s waste basket that he didn’t put there.

When he decodes it, he finds that the message simply reads:

_Aberforth Dumbledore._

*

“I’m proud of you,” Oliver says abruptly one night as they rest on Percy’s sofa, limbs tangled. The words make Percy’s throat feel like it’s seizing closed. _Why_ , he wants to ask, but no sound comes out. Oliver sighs, pulling Percy closer. “I didn’t think I would ever say this,” he says with a laugh that Percy knows is intended to bring some levity to the situation, even though maybe, just maybe, they _shouldn’t_ , “but it feels perverse that there’s still Quidditch matches being played when there’s a war happening. Almost makes me understand why they suspended those matches at school.”

“I don’t think it’s so strange,” Percy answers, and Oliver’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Emboldened by actually managing to say something Oliver hadn’t been anticipating, Percy continues. “There’s nothing else to be done. At least you’re still spreading joy to your fans.”

He regrets the words instantly as soon as he says them, for Oliver stiffens in his arm. “That’s just it, isn’t it,” he says. “You’re out there doing something, and I’m … I’m…”

Percy rests a hand on Oliver’s forearm. “Weren’t you the one always telling me that I took on too much responsibility?” he asks, deflecting from his own feelings of failure, of insignificance, of not doing enough. Maybe his information has been able to help a handful of Muggleborns escape trial. It seems so small.

“I don't know. I just wish I could be doing more. I'm - I'm _scared_ ," he says and Percy deflates.

He doesn’t know what else to say to that, other than _me too._

On nights like this, it's not unusual for them to fall asleep on the couch together, overwhelmed by their exhaustion. But that's when there's a curious noise, a tapping sound. Their conversation is interrupted by a shimmering silver goat by the window, so reminiscent of the phoenix from Percy’s earliest memories. He lets it prance in, entranced by the way it glide. The voice it speaks with is likewise similar, too, but the attempt to place it fades in importance compared to the message it bears.

_You-Know-Who is making his last stand at Hogwarts._

*

Running through the grounds of the castle fills his head with a new sense of clarity of clarity, of purpose, like he's broken through the surface of all the thoughts and pressure that had been keeping him down these last few years and he can think again. His reconciliation with his family hadn't quite gone to plan, which was to say that it had resolved better than he had ever expected. Despite everything they had been through in the last few years, his family had _forgiven_ him. It's as though a weight has lifted from his chest, and when he sees the Minister's hood slip down and reveal his face, Percy can barely retain his glee at declaring what side he was _really_ on, should have on. Perhaps he should be more sedate, given the circumstances, but his blood is surging with anticipation of a long and hard night of battle. Every who has gathered here has come together to give Harry Potter the time and space to do whatever is necessary. 

It's not right, that so much of the war efforts rests on the shoulders of a seventeen-year-old boy. But nothing about tonight, and all the months (years) that have led up to it has ever been _fair_. Not for Harry. Not for his family. Not for Percy. 

The thought spurs him on to fight harder, sharing grins with Fred, keeping an eye out for his other family members, for Oliver. 

And then there is an explosion. 

*

_It should have been him. It should have been him. It should have been him._

The thought repeats itself on a loop through his mind the entire duration of Fred's funeral, and he hates it. He should be thinking of his brother, charming, laughing Fred. It's selfish, he knows, but Percy but can't help but wonder if half so many people have turned up if it had been him who had died instead.

It feels like the sort of day which should be drenched in rain, but instead, it is warm and cloudless, the sky a brilliant blue, the colour of his brother’s eyes, like Fred’s smiling down at them all. 

He’s reminded of the day his uncles died, and the weeks that had followed. His mother’s pinched, haunted look. The tears and sobs that come and go. It's a bit like that, but ten times worse. He breathes in, breathes out, forcing his airways to cooperate with the lump in his throat. The war is over. You-Know-Who is gone for good. But what of everything that remains? He's old enough, experienced enough, now, to know that one doesn't have to be a dark Wizard to have reprehensible views. The rot had settled in deep in the Ministry in the last few years, but if anybody can dig it out, it's Shacklebolt. 

The wizarding world can rebuild. Just like it had last time. And every time it does, they'll try to make it something better than it was.

Percy had been told that he would be able to keep his position in the Ministry, if he still wanted it, and to everyone's surprise, but most especially his own, he had turned it down. The old Percy would have considered it career suicide, but he's come to realise there are more important things than his career. His family. Friends. _Oliver_. Maybe he'll go back someday. He wants to help. But he needs this. Time. Space. The chance to figure out who he really is as a person. 

“What are you thinking about?” Oliver asks, intertwining his fingers with his.

Percy returns the gesture with a gentle squeeze. His mother looks up at them for the briefest of moments before dabbing her eyes and returning her attention to Fred's casket. With a pang, Percy realises he needs to properly introduce Oliver to his family. Not that they don't all _know_ Oliver, more-or-less, but they deserve to be told what he means to Percy. What space he occupies in his life. How he couldn't have got through these last few years - these last few days - without him.

Without preamble, Percy decides that the direct route is best, and that there's also no time like the present. "I suppose you're my boyfriend, right?" 

Oliver laughs, surprised, delighted. "Right. That's what you're thinking about?" 

"It's relevant," he insists, and it's Ginny that catches his eye this time. 

Despite everything, Percy feels like he can breathe again.


End file.
